On an ordinary October evening, a Toronto news station aired something that seemed like a gift from the deep sea: a red-lipped batfish striding along the ocean floor on strange, ungainly fins, its face looking almost glamorous with a bright red pout. It was the kind of clip that makes people stop scrolling and say, “Look at that.” But Avneet Dhillon, a producer on the CBC News fact-check team, had a different reaction. She opened the video and immediately felt that something was off. “I opened it and I immediately thought, ‘This is AI,’” she later recalled. That instinct wasn’t paranoia. It was the result of years of learning how easily images, sounds, and stories can be faked online. Dhillon’s job is to watch what is trending on social media and help people figure out whether it is real or not. So she did what any careful investigator would do: she started comparing. She looked at actual footage of red-lipped batfish and noticed that the viral version looked different. The way the fish moved, the texture of the ocean floor, even the shape of the animal itself seemed wrong. That alone wasn’t proof, but it was enough to keep digging. Next, she went to the Instagram account credited as the source of the video, @deepoceanworld. The profile was full of dramatic sea creature clips, but there was no evidence of who was creating them. There was no marine biologist, no professional photographer, no link to any university or research institute. “You would expect it to be a professional photographer of some kind, or a marine biologist,” Dhillon said. “There was no evidence of that.” Eventually, the Toronto news organization removed the video from its platforms. But by then, the video had already been shared widely. For Dhillon, that strange fish was not just a funny mistake. It was a perfect example of why fact-checking has become a daily survival skill in the digital world.
What happened with that batfish video might seem like a minor issue compared to war, politics, or public health. But Dhillon argues that even small pieces of misinformation matter. When a trusted news organization posts a video that turns out to be fake, it damages something important: the audience’s trust. People may start to wonder what else they have gotten wrong. And in a time when misinformation is everywhere, trust is one of the most fragile things a news outlet has. That is why the CBC has a set of rules called the Journalistic Standards and Practices, which say that journalists should correct mistakes as soon as they become aware of them. A correction might seem like a tiny thing, but it tells the public that the news organization is paying attention and cares about accuracy. Dhillon’s investigation of the AI fish is a reminder that fact-checking is not about being negative or suspicious all the time. It is about being curious and careful. It means asking simple questions: Who made this? Why are they sharing it? Does it match what we already know? Those questions are easy to ask, but they take time and effort. And in a world where anyone can create a fake profile, a fake name, and a fake video with the help of AI, the effort is more necessary than ever. It is also important to remember that misinformation is not always completely fake. Sometimes it is an old video posted as if it were new. Sometimes it is a real image taken out of context. Sometimes it is a lie mixed in with enough truth to make it believable. That is why verifying information has become such a complicated job. It is no longer enough to look at a video and decide if it looks real. You have to look at the source, the history, the details, and the intention behind it. Dhillon does this every day, but she also wants regular people to learn how to do it for themselves. Because the moment an audience starts doubting everything they see, the whole idea of shared truth begins to fall apart.
One person who is learning those skills early is Chloe Kizito, a seventeen-year-old from Kitchener, Ontario. Chloe is part of the MediaSmarts Teen Fact-Checking Network, a Canadian non-profit program that brings teenagers together to investigate suspicious online content. While Dhillon spends her days looking at fish videos and viral claims, Chloe focuses on something even more serious: medical misinformation. Medical misinformation is false health information that people share because they believe it is true. It is different from disinformation, which is false information shared on purpose to trick people. But both can be dangerous, especially when they involve health. Chloe points to the long-debunked claim that vaccines cause autism as a perfect example of why this kind of misinformation is so harmful. That false claim has been repeated for years, despite being thoroughly disproven by scientists. Chloe says that when parents believe it, they may delay or skip vaccines for their children, putting them at risk for diseases that are preventable. “In that case, it can be life-threatening,” she said. As a teenager, Chloe knows that young people are often dismissed in conversations about serious topics like health and science. But she believes teen voices are exactly what the fact-checking world needs. Young people are online constantly. They see trends, challenges, and viral posts before most adults do. They also know how it feels to be caught up in something that seems true simply because everyone is sharing it. That is why MediaSmarts decided to train teens as fact-checkers. Instead of just telling young people what to believe, the program teaches them how to investigate and make up their own minds. Chloe’s work matters because medical misinformation does not only affect older people. It affects everyone, and it spreads fastest through the same networks that teens and young people use every day.
Chloe recently got the chance to test her skills on a big, controversial claim. She looked into a statement made by United States Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy, who suggested that taking Tylenol during pregnancy could be linked to autism in children. This is the kind of claim that can cause real anxiety for pregnant people. It also spreads easily because it sounds serious and comes from a well-known public figure. But Chloe did not take the claim at face value. She went looking for evidence. She found separate studies by scientists at Health Canada and Johns Hopkins University in the United States, and both studies concluded that there is no link between taking Tylenol during pregnancy and autism in children. With that information, she was able to determine that Kennedy’s claim was false. But Chloe says the important part is not just knowing the answer. It is understanding how to get there. She wants people to ask questions about the source of a claim. Who is making this statement? What are their qualifications? Are they sharing evidence from real research, or just repeating something they heard? She also encourages people to look for the original study or report and read it themselves, or at least read summaries from trusted scientific organizations. Her method is simple but powerful: do your own research, and back it up with reliable sources. Whether the topic is a funny fish video or a serious statement from a government official, Chloe says the same rules apply. Look at the people behind the information. Check their motives. And don’t be afraid to say that something is unproven or wrong. Fact-checking, she says, is not just a job. It is a habit of mind that anyone can develop, especially young people who are tired of being misled online.
The question is how misinformation spreads so quickly in the first place. According to Dhillon, modern technology has made it incredibly easy to create convincing falsehoods. “It’s just so easy to create a profile, create a fake image and a fake name, and then post whatever content you want and get AI tools to help you generate it,” she said. You don’t need a television studio or a newspaper to publish something anymore. You just need an account and an internet connection. That means the online world is full of content that looks professional but has no real authority behind it. Sometimes the misinformation is not even created from scratch. It is based on something real, like an old video from a different time and place, shared as if it were connected to a current event. For example, after a fire at Canadian Forces Base Wainwright in Alberta on Oct. 17, a video of an explosion in Italy started circulating online, with some people claiming it showed the fire in Canada. In reality, the video had nothing to do with the event. But by the time anyone checked, it had already been seen hundreds of times. Why do people share things like that? Psychologists say that one reason is a cognitive bias. When people see a piece of information over and over again, they start to believe it must be true. The same thing happens when they see it shared by friends or family members. “It’s just some kind of bias that indicates that, ‘Oh, since a lot of people have seen it, it has to be valid,’” Chloe explained. This helps explain why misinformation can go viral so quickly. It is not always because the lie is extremely convincing. It is because it repeats itself so many times that people stop questioning it.
In the end, both Dhillon and Chloe agree on one thing: fact-checking skills are no longer optional. In a world where AI is becoming part of everyday life, and where misinformation and disinformation are spreading at lightning speed, everyone needs to know how to pause, think, and investigate before sharing. “AI is so prevalent, and misinformation is rampant,” Dhillon said. “What we focus on is teaching our audience how they can do that fact-checking themselves.” That is the real goal of the CBC fact-check team and the MediaSmarts Teen Fact-Checking Network. It is not to catch every single lie on the internet. That would be impossible. It is to give people the tools they need to ask better questions and make smarter decisions about what they see online. It is about creating a culture where curiosity is valued, where people are not embarrassed to say “I’m not sure,” and where readers demand evidence instead of just accepting whatever is in front of them. The red-lipped batfish video may have been removed from the Toronto news station’s platforms, but the lesson it left behind is worth remembering. A strange video can be a moment of wonder or a test of trust. It all depends on how we react. The next time you see something shocking, incredible, or alarming online, you can either hit share right away, or you can ask yourself a few simple questions. Who made this? Why are they sharing it? How do I know it’s true? Those questions may feel small, but they are powerful. They are the difference between being led by false information and taking control of your own understanding. In a world that is changing so fast, fact-checking is not just a skill for journalists. It is a way of staying honest, both with ourselves and with each other.